She Doesn't Deserve You
by KateToast
Summary: "Peeta has asked to be coached separately." That conversation between Peeta and Haymitch, before the first Games.


_A/N: _I've had this kicking around for quite a while, decided to finally post it!

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"'_Peeta has asked to be coached separately.'" – pg. 113, The Hunger Games_

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He knew she wouldn't be awake yet. _He_ shouldn't even be awake yet, but one could only toss and turn for so long in an unfamiliar bed in a loud, strange city before it felt like it was time to get up and do something. Besides, he had a feeling Haymitch may be up, and they had little time to discuss things one on one.

Peeta changed from his sleepwear into casual pants and a shirt and then made his way to the dining area, where some breakfast things were already set out. He followed the scent of hot chocolate, his new (and probably last) favorite delicacy, over to the table. An Avox stood back silently – Peeta always tried to nod at them, or acknowledge them in _some_ way, even if he wasn't supposed to.

Just as he suspected, his mentor sat with a stale-looking cup of coffee, elbows on the table and head resting on a fist. "Morning," Peeta offered as he took a seat and reached for the hot chocolate.

Haymitch slowly lifted his head and blinked at Peeta, as if trying to remember who he was and what he was doing there. As he let his head droop down again he said gruffly, "You're up early, sunshine."

"I grew up in a bakery," Peeta said, grabbing a roll to dip in his drink. "I always get up early."

Haymitch grunted his acknowledgement of this and started swirling a spoon in his coffee. Peeta wondered if Haymitch Abernathy ever slept, besides when the alcohol forced him from consciousness. This wasn't the most ideal of circumstances to have this discussion – Peeta had hoped the older man would be in better spirits, or at least more with it, but it had to be now.

Before he could even say a word, Haymitch said, "Spit it out, boy."

Peeta swallowed the lump of soggy bread sticking in his throat. He took a deep breath, gathering himself, and then looked at Haymitch. "I want to be coached separately for the rest of our time here."

This got Haymitch's attention. He put his hands together and leaned against the table, gray Seam eyes sharp. Moments like this made Peeta think that maybe the drunken, delirious thing was just an act on the victor's part. "Do you?"

"Yes," Peeta continued evenly, dunking a piece of bread in and out of his hot chocolate. "I think it would be better."

Haymitch made an "uh huh" noise and nodded, still staring at him, sizing him up. Peeta didn't shrink from the scrutiny, just bit into the bread. "And what brought this on? Maybe last night's scores, hm?"

Peeta shrugged. "She got an 11."

"And you got an 8. Why are you giving up already?"

"I'm not—"

"Oh, don't even try to deny it," Haymitch interrupted, sitting back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. "It's all over your face. You're giving up."

Peeta almost commented on _Haymitch_ of all people accusing him of giving up, but decided, why bother? He didn't have much time left, and he didn't want to waste what he had picking fights. Plus, the man was right. "Let's be honest, Haymitch. There's a lot better chance of Katniss winning this thing than me."

"That may be true," Haymitch agreed, and Peeta appreciated his no-bullshit way of things. "But every year there's a lot better chance of someone else winning, and that doesn't stop people from trying their damndest to stay alive."

"I really _don't_ stand a chance, though. Not against this crowd," Peeta said. He knew he didn't, and he wasn't going to kid himself. He wasn't a fighter or a survivor, not like Katniss Everdeen. He was thinking of bread and rain and a whack to the head as he said, "But if there's _any_ way to help her, to get her sponsors or keep her safe…"

Haymitch frowned at him and didn't say anything. Peeta wasn't sure how long he should wait before checking for a pulse. Finally, though, his mentor leaned forward again and said knowingly, "You care about her." At Peeta's sudden blush he added: "Dammit, you _love_ her, don't you, boy?"

Peeta felt hot and uncomfortable under Haymitch's accusing stare. He didn't know what to say, had never talked about these feelings out loud before. Haymitch continued for him: "Amazing. I don't know what you're seeing that the rest of us don't, but it must be pretty damn special. That girl's a handful, to say the least."

"Hey," Peeta said harshly. Katniss didn't make herself easy to like, but Peeta felt maybe he understood some of why that was. "We – we go back." He decided not to mention that the first time they actually spoke was a few days ago on the train.

"I guess so." Haymitch smirked maddeningly.

"Anyway, I just – if there was something we could think of that would benefit her. The other tributes, they know she's the one to beat, now, and they're going to be ruthless, especially the Careers. What can I do? What can I do in the arena to help her?" Peeta asked, desperate.

"Hold on," Haymitch said, raising a hand. His eyebrows pulled together. "You're really serious."

It wasn't a question. Peeta had been having these sorts of thoughts since the moment his name was called at the reaping. It had taken her exemplary training score to solidify his decision. "Yeah, I am," he confirmed.

There was something there, in Haymitch's eyes, something sad but proud. Almost like he was impressed. "You're quite the man, Peeta. She doesn't deserve you."

"She needs to go home," Peeta pressed. He didn't want to hear that she didn't deserve him, because he wasn't planning on being around much longer to _be_ deserved and it made his insides hurt. "Her sister and her mother – they rely on her. So will you help me?"

Haymitch produced a flask from his pocket and poured a heavy amount into his cup. "Yeah, I'll help you." He put the flask away and swirled his drink. "How do you feel about public declarations?"

"What?"

"Would you be willing to tell the world, in your interview, that you love that girl?"

Peeta thought about it. He'd just admitted it for the first time to someone – and now he was being asked to share the feelings he'd been carrying around silently for ten years in front of the nation. "Do you think it would help her?"

"It certainly wouldn't hurt. She's a damn fine hunter and survivalist, but her personality leaves a little something to be desired. No offense," Haymitch added.

"So you just want me to say in my interview that I like her?"

"Basically, yes. But we can figure all that out when we practice for your interview," Haymitch said, knocking back his drink. "How do you feel about the Careers?"

"I hate them," Peeta said immediately, picturing Cato's hulking frame intimidating the others, Clove's knives flying free at targets. "Why?"

"Oh, we can talk about that later, too. But I suggest starting to think up ways you could get into their good graces."

The click-clack of heels announced Effie's arrival. "Aren't we up early!" she commented, coming to the table. "Good morning, Peeta. Good morning, Haymitch." The latter was said much less nicely than the former.

Peeta ripped off another piece of bread and dipped it into his drink as Haymitch and Effie bickered, though his appetite had faded. It was surprising how quickly his mentor had jumped onto this plan. Peeta knew Katniss was going to be upset by this, probably see it as some form of betrayal, especially after how united they'd been pushed to be since their arrival. He would bring thoughts of her fierce will to live, her love for her family, her smile, into the arena with him. He hoped maybe when she was back in District 12, victor of the Hunger Games, that she would understand the choices he had made, and why.

"Better sit down, sweetheart," Haymitch said to Effie. "We've got some things to discuss."

**XXX**


End file.
